


S.P.S or How To Ensure A Win–Win Situation In A Game of Chance

by verbatim_and_forgotten



Category: Kasabian
Genre: Alcohol, Attempt at Humor, Gen, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-01
Updated: 2014-09-01
Packaged: 2018-02-15 16:46:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2236236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/verbatim_and_forgotten/pseuds/verbatim_and_forgotten
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two men. One beer can. This is how they choose to settle their dispute.</p>
            </blockquote>





	S.P.S or How To Ensure A Win–Win Situation In A Game of Chance

**Author's Note:**

  * For [untitled102](https://archiveofourown.org/users/untitled102/gifts).



The need for booze is stronger than ever now that they have the rest of the night to work on their songs for their next album.

Whilst Dibs and Ian have gone home to their respective families, Serge has asked Tom to stay in the living room of his abode for a couple more hours to do preliminary vocal work. Contrary to his composed exterior, he always feels like a squirmy teenage girl on the inside every time he’s asking Tom to sing his lyrics for the first time. Because the thought of having Tom croon his words in close proximity, all open expression and easy smile, that quickens his pulse like nothing else.

Which is why alcohol is going to do the trick for him. Possibly lots of it.

Everyone who has known them knows Serge has developed an unhealthy obsession with Tom’s voice that can’t ever be fulfilled. Ever. And Tom is only happy to oblige. But before he can make use of his larynx anywhere near Serge, he’d like to guzzle down a drink or two, indubitably of the intoxicating kind. Because he’s been told before that alcohol gives him the desired effect of sounding both smooth and gravelly at the same time. The implication of how that will make Serge react after hearing him sing, rosy-cheeked and ecstatic, has him jumping about the living room like a hyped-up kangaroo on a pogo stick.

Serge is currently cradling his beloved acoustic on the sofa, idly strumming a melody from an old Kasabian number, without so much of a glance in Tom’s direction. But he can tell from the exaggerated noises coming from his best friend’s every movement that Tom must be feeling enthusiastic about an upcoming event. He would very much like to cradle Tom’s face instead, if it gets him to stop springing across the floorboard.

“Tom, for fuck’s sake, c’mere. What’s the matter? You look like a Duracell bunny.”

“Sorry. I feel fucking freezing, I can’t sit still– Hang on, I’m getting a drink.” Tom utters quickly, by way of explanation. He scratches his jean-clad thigh and ambles to Serge’s refrigerator to check for drinks.

“Yeah, sure. Can you pass us a beer, please?” 

“Huh. There’s only one can of beer.” Tom takes the beer and closes the fridge slowly with an audible sigh. 

“Oh, well, I’m thinking we could split it?” Serge tries, but he knows half a can of beer just isn’t all that satisfying.

Tom doesn’t respond immediately and seems to be standing very still. Serge looks up in puzzlement. Tom’s back is still facing him and he doesn’t know what’s currently running through Tom’s mind.

“We… could.” Tom replies, slowly turning around to face him, his expression unreadable. “But we both know there’s only one way to settle this, innit, Serge?” Then the all too familiar glint in his eye and the dimpled grin are back in full force.

“What on earth are you on about?” 

“Gimme your right hand. Make a fist and then swing it down like this.” Tom shapes his right hand into a ball of fist and grabs for Serge’s hand, urging him to mirror his.

Serge’s eyes are wide as saucers. “What? Tommy, you can have the bloody beer, man. I’m not punchin’ you for it.”

“No, you silly goose. Just gonna play the ole’ roshambo with ya. No punching, no one’s getting harmed. You get me?” 

“You wanna play me for the beer, with a game of Scissors, Paper, Stone? Bloody hell, Tom, you’re just so full of ideas, aren’t ya?” Serge shakes his head but he’s grinning at him fondly.

“Yeah. Actually, another idea. Some background music would be nice. Can you put on Play With Fire while we’re doing this?”

Serge saunters over to his record player and releases a vinyl from its sleeve. “Here, if we need to slab some cool backing music on, Morricone’s the guy for the job, yeah?"

He returns to his former position in front of Tom and before long, the theme for The Good The Bad and The Ugly resounds throughout the living room.

“Yeah yeah, enough stalling, Clint Eastwood. You ready, Serge?”

Serge nods and gives him the go-ahead.

“Scissors, Paper, Stone, and… Shoot!” They both shout in unison.

Serge stares at the shapes of the hands under him. Tom’s fist has now unfurled, with all five fingers visible; while his own only has his two fingers extended and separated. He glances down at Tom’s face with a smirk. “Yeah, wicked! Oops, sorry, Tom. So, does this mean I get the beer or do you want to call for another round?”

“Um, best two out of three?” Tom laughs feebly.

Tom wins the next one, but astounds Serge by calling off the third game and calling it a tie between them.

“Not that I mind, ‘cause y’know, it’s you who wanted to do three rounds. So, why are we stopping?” Serge queries.

“You were right, Serge. I think we should split the beer halfway. That way, we both get to have it.”

Tom pulls the tab open until it pops and takes the first few gulps before handing it to Serge. He runs his tongue over his upper lip and catches Serge’s eyes tracking the movement. 

“There you go, mate.” Tom says, voice raspy and breathless.

“You know what, Tom? Love your voice even more when you’re drinking. Finish the beer so we can get started.”


End file.
